Before the Shadows
by Hispaniola'sCaptain
Summary: The tale of Jafar; how he came to be the evil man we all know so well. He comes to the palace as the new vizier, determined to fix his poor country & meets someone unusual along the way, someone with a life as strange as his. Disney owns all the characters except Anjum, and such other new characters you will meet. Told from both Jafar's & Anjum's POV. Please review. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: As I said in the summary, this is Jafar's story about his life before he turned evil. It is told partially from his POV, and partially from the POV of Anjum, the woman who sets him on the path that we all know about. I know it starts a little slow, for which I'm sorry, but any review would be a ginormous (giant+enormous) help. The story picks up speed in the next couple of chapters and will continue to do so. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy. **_

_**Chapter 1**_

_Anjum_

She had worked in the palace repository since she was seven. At twenty-two, she was the head of the repository in all but name. After all, a female would never be trusted with such an important position; not officially, at any rate. Anjum had learned at her mother's knee how to read Arabic, Egyptian and Chinese, as well as how to mend books and preserve scrolls. Now, she spent her days translating foreign texts, caring for cracked parchment, and bringing the repository catalogue up to date. There was no finer library in the civilized world, though the new library in the Egyptian port city of Alexandria was rumored to be quickly catching up.

After the doors of the repository closed each night and the official Head had tottered off to bed, Anjum unbound the silk scarf she used to cover her head and keep her hair out of the way as she worked, and brought down a book to study. She rarely went to bed before the third hour after midnight, and was always up with the dawn. Anjum had followed this routine since her she was nine, when her mother died. At first to keep the grief at bay, it had quickly morphed into a way to survive. She was valuable to the repository because she knew so very much about the books it housed. She was able to recommend codices of law to lawyers and judges. She could cite winning arguments to traveling philosophers. When a mysterious plague swept through Agrabah six years ago, she was able to provide the frantic doctors with the medicine texts that had resulted in a cure.

Anjum was working carefully to reillumine the faded illustrations of an old treatise on botany when a petulant yell split the otherwise peaceful morning air. She groaned to herself. How had the Princess Jasmine escaped from her nurses and wound up in the repository? At five years of age, Jasmine could go from adorable to irksome in less time than it took to cough. She was also hideously destructive when she was in the middle of a temper tantrum. Anjum raced out from behind her desk, prepared to wrestle a manuscript from the volatile child, when the girl came into view, in the arms of her father.

The tiny Sultan, who just came up to Anjum's chin, had become useless as a ruler ever since his daughter had been born, killing her mother in childbirth. He dedicated all of his attention to her, spoiling her rotten. Anjum was furious about this. The birth of the princess had marked a sudden downhill slide of the kingdom. What had once been a prosperous land was now marked by severe socio-economic problems. The mortality rate had spiked due to a breakage of various public hygiene works. But all the Sultan cared about was his daughter, a smaller, chubbier version of her mother.

"Sultan," Anjum breathed, trying to control her temper. She wouldn't be able to protect her precious books if she were beheaded after all. "Sultan, why…may I ask…have you…_honored us…_with your presence?" The Sultan peered at her.

"Ansum, I needed to show our new vizier the repository. He will need a great deal of access to it after all."

"I seeeeeee," she grated, trying to ignore the hollers of the monkey-child in the Sultan's arms. "Well, I shall certainly be happy to assist the new vizier." The Sultan looked at her in surprise.

"Oh, my, my dear child, the vizier will need the expertise of the Head of the Repository, not a page-painter." Anjum almost screamed in fury. Not only had the old man forgone his kingdom for the sake of his mewling daughter, he paid no attention to what went on inside his own palace. _Everyone _knew to come to her, Anjum, not Ansum, not the withered old Head, for help in the Repository. Clenching her hands into fists to keep from strangling her ruler, nails biting deep into her palms, she bowed.

"Of course, my lord." The Sultan smiled cheerily at her, and Jasmine let out another yell.

"Oh, oh. She needs a nap," the Sultan whispered confidentially to Anjum. "I'll send the new vizier down here in about an hour. Please take him to the Head of the Repository." The one-track minded Sultan moved off, bouncing his shrieking child in his arms.

"Sultan," Anjum forced herself to call out.

"Oh, yes?" He turned. "What is it, Ablum?" Sucking her breath in through clenched teeth, Anjum asked "The new vizier, sir, what is his name?"

"Oh, that." The Sultan turned to leave again. "His name is Jafar."


	2. Chapter 2The New Vizier

**Chapter 2**

_Anjum_

About an hour and a half after the Sultan had unknowingly infuriated Anjum, a long shadow fell across her desk as she worked lovingly over the manuscript. Carefully, she set her brushes down, cautious that she did not drip ink, or smear the manuscript with her sleeve. Then she looked up at the tall figure standing over her. The man was leanly muscled, with the look of a runner. His face, while not handsome in the conventional sense, was arresting, and certainly pleasant enough.

"Can I help you?" she asked, sliding the façade of pleasant assistant over her face.

"You certainly can," the man said bowing slightly from the waist. Anjum started. The man had a low, thrilling voice, a voice that could be listened to for hours on end. "My name is Jafar."

"Ah, of course." Anjum swiftly regained her composure. "Then you are looking for the Head of the Repository, I take it?" Jafar's eyebrows knitted together in a very reasonable facsimile of confusion.

"But, I was under the impression that I was already addressing her," he said blinking his black eyes wide in false innocence. Anjum couldn't help it, and let out a low laugh, bending her head in acknowledgement. Her pent up anger at the near sighted Sultan slipped away as she confronted his new vizier. A droll sense of humor was usually accompanied by a keen mind. Perhaps the Sultan was aware, how he had let things slide, and brought this man in to clean up his mess. Anjum snorted to herself. A pity that that was the most responsibility the Sultan would take.

She closed the box she kept her ink powders in and stood up. Looking up at the new viziers face she beckoned.

"Come along. I'll show you where everything is."

_Jafar_

"She's positively tiny!" he thought to himself as he followed the de facto Head. He had enough sense to sound out who actually was in control in all sections of the Sultan's palace, but this woman had surprised him. He had met women before who had quietly (and not so quietly) assumed leadership. But this woman seemed barely more than a girl. No, he frowned to himself; no-one could think she is a child, for all her lack of size. There was a fire that burned behind her eyes, even when working over a text, which made him go quite weak in the knees. Her skin was pale from working indoors all day, with delicately shaped hands that fit perfectly around the brush she had been using. He guessed she was slender, from the firmness of her chin and cheekbones, and the straightness of her wrists, peeping coyly out from under her sleeves… He bit his cheek hard to bring his mind back to focus. He nodded as she pointed to where to medical texts were, just beyond the theological section. She turned her head, and those magnificent eyes swept over him again. For it was in her eyes that the majority of her beauty lay. Almond shaped, but an exotic blue, rather than the brown or black Jafar was accustomed to seeing every day. He wondered where such a blue had come from, a dark blue that one only sees for a moment between the red of sunset and the gray of evening. He bit his cheek again as they walked past the shelves supporting books of poetry. He had a job to do, and he didn't need to be distracted…from his job…tiny though she was, she certainly walked like a woman.

"Damn!" he swore quietly to himself. He had a chance to turn the kingdom around, he needed to concentrate. To his chagrin, he realized she'd heard him. Her head snapped back, eyes glittering.

"What was that?" she asked coolly.

"I beg your pardon," he replied shamefacedly. "I- I was distracted by the books," he waved one hand vaguely over his shoulder. "As I have so much to do, I was annoyed that I had …allowed myself…to become distracted." She peered up at him, and then nodded.

"I know what you mean. Sometimes it is hard not to be pulled from one's appointed task by another book." She looked carefully up at him again, and then asked "So, you like poetry, do you?"

"Ah-h-h," Jafar stammered. He wanted to tell her yes, certainly, he adored poetry, but he faltered before the blue fire springing from her eyes. "No," he said suddenly. Her eyebrows quirked upward in confusion. "I was simply wondering whether your music texts were with the poetry or mathematics," he blurted. She seemed pleased by the question.

"Actually, both. Music related texts lie between poetry and mathematics, just as it does in real life," she said turning back to show him the way. "Do you write music?"

"Some," Jafar admitted, surprising himself with his honesty. "However, most of what I write is fairly terrible. I generally stick to playing."

"Oh, what do you play?" the woman asked politely.

"Mizmar," he replied, naming a single-reed flute-like instrument.

"Hmmm," was her noncommittal response. Jafar ground his teeth together. Why should it matter what this person, what this _woman, _thought of him? He was far too busy to try and be everyone's favorite person. However…the Head of the Repository was a very important person, and the person who was actually in charge even more so. He should, of course cultivate her friendship. It made good sense. Yes, of course, he smiled broadly to himself, to made perfect sense to spend time with this woman…this woman whose name he didn't even know!

By now they were at the very back of the Repository, surrounded by volumes of military history. The woman turned to face Jafar.

"Well, that's the basic layout," she said, spreading her hands to indicate the whole of the Repository. "Texts are arranged within their various sections by country, the year of publication, then author. Not too difficult, if you know what you're looking for." She smiled slightly as she turned away. Jafar was immensely grateful she had turned so she wouldn't she the surprised delight flash across his face. Her face, slightly too wide in the cheekbone and slightly too narrow (albeit, well shaped) in the mouth, was transformed when she smiled to one of unquestionable blinding beauty. Jafar's breath caught as she once again began to walk away from him. _Her name. _He had to know what it was. He hastily lengthened his step so that he was next to her.  
"What do they call you?" he asked. Her eyes darted upward. In surprise? Anger?

"Anjum," she said, once more looking straight ahead. "My name is Anjum."

Jafar nodded. " 'Star'. It fits you." To his shock, Anjum stiffened, and then hurried off to her desk.


	3. Chapter 3Night In The Repository

**Chapter 3**

_Jafar_

Mortified by Anjum's reaction, Jafar slowed to a halt. What could he have said? Obviously she was furious for some reason, but for the life of him, Jafar couldn't think why. A slow flush crept up his narrow cheeks as he realized he would have to pass by her desk to exit the Repository. _Maybe she's not there,_ a hopeful little voice pointed out. _She could be anywhere in here, not just at her desk. _Besides, he reminded himself, he was the vizier. He shouldn't have to creep around the Repository lest he run into Anjum again. Straightening his shoulders, he walked towards the door of the Repository, past Anjum's desk…which was as she had left it. Thankful, Jafar left the Repository.

_Anjum_

She hadn't meant to run away like that. But the vizier's comment caught her completely off guard. For some reason, Anjum felt if she had responded she would have crossed some kind of threshold. So instead she ran.

She moved into one of the storage rooms, blessedly empty to catch her breath. As she did, she started to pace, annoyed with herself.

"Never, in all these _years,_" she hissed to herself, "have I run away from…well, from anything!" She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, still pacing. Suddenly she stopped as a thought hit her like a bolt of lightning. "He'll think I'm such a fool," Anjum whispered, mortified. She sunk her head into her hands. Who knows? Perhaps he could have helped her become the actual, official Head. Well, not anymore.

She groaned into her palms. Why, why, _why _had she run away? _I probably ruined my credibility with the vizier, _she thought miserably. Not that it would stay that way for long. All the vizier had to do was ask anyone, and he would hear all about how important to the Repository she was. How valuable as a source. How talented at finding just the right text… Anjum straightened her shoulders. Her credibility was _not _ruined. If that vizier wanted to nose around, she could always claim a sudden, short illness had caused her to dash off. Anjum nodded to herself. There was no use in getting so upset over such a minor thing. After all, there was work to be done. Her Repository needed her.

_That Night- Anjum_

She moved silently through the aisles, her hair flowing down around her face. She had been part way through a treatise on architecture the night before. _Where is it? _ People were forever rearranging the books, to Anjum's great annoyance. _Ah! There it is! _She took down the scroll, running her fingers along the soft papyrus paper. Holding the scroll gently, she turned to go back to her room at the back of the Repository.

As she turned she suddenly heard one of the large doors at the front of the room slide being pushed open. Anjum turned in surprise. Who could that be at this hour? Her surprise quickly hardened. _Nobody _had any business being here at this time of night. Raising her oil lamp higher, she set off for the front of the room, and then changed direction as she heard soft footsteps. Her light cast flickering shadows before her, teasingly pointing the way. She turned once more…into the agriculture section? But there was the intruder, bent over an open scroll, hastily jotting notes on a scrap of parchment.

"The Repository is closed for the night," Anjum said clearly. The figure in front of her jumped at the sound of her voice, then straightened and turned to face her.

_Jafar_

She must walk like a cat, to have come upon him unawares. He turned, sheepish at being surprised, a mild apology on his lips…but the sound died in his throat. The lamp in her hand cast a golden tinge to her pale skin, and the light reflected gloriously off a black river cascading down her shoulders. Her vibrant eyes held all the firmness of an empress. Jafar laughed quietly at the thought, for she was the empress of her realm. Her look changed to puzzlement.

"What is so amusing?"

"A passing thought," Jafar replied, smoothly for once. "You are right. I am here after hours, but I had need." He gestured at the paper behind him. "Production records of the last ten years."

"I see," Anjum said. "And you couldn't have gotten this earlier because of why?" She tilted her head, causing her hair to shift with the sound of whispering silk. Jafar momentarily wondered if the hair was as soft as it looked.

"I didn't know I needed it earlier," he said, bringing himself back to reality. "I do my best work at night." Then he froze, hoping his statement hadn't sounded too much like an innuendo. But it must not have, for Anjum was nodding in agreement.

"I understand," she said, "but that's no excuse. In the future, plan what you need, and give me a list. I'll have the texts sent to you." Then she pointed to the scroll he had been using. "Are you done with that yet?"  
"No, I-"

"Then you may as well borrow it for now. Do try to return it by tomorrow. I don't generally let my books go wandering." She held her light higher, watching as Jafar marked his place and rewound the scroll. He turned his back, but he was sure he could still feel her gaze, piercing him somewhere between the shoulder blades. He swallowed, and turned again to meet the strong gaze of Anjum's gem-like eyes. She gestured behind toward the large main doors.

"I'll walk you out." Jafar bowed in gratitude and lifted his own oil lamp. They walked silently toward the doors, Jafar wrestling with the question if he should mention his accidental insult earlier. He sighed quietly. An apology certainly wouldn't hurt to smooth things over. It appeared Anjum could be very helpful when she wasn't angry. _Helpful with the books, _he told himself firmly. _She's not a slave to use. Get yourself together. _Jafar cleared his throat.

"Anjum, about earlier…" He saw her shoulders tighten, the deliberately relax.

"Yes?" She sounded guarded, but not angry. Encouraged, Jafar continued.

"I'm sorry. I don't know how I managed to insult you, but-"

"Insult?" she asked incredulously, swinging around to face him. "You didn't insult me."

"I didn't?" Jafar was amazed. "But when you left, I looked…"

"Yes, I, ah, was taken by a momentary sickness." Anjum interrupted hastily. "Fortunately all is well, but you know how it can be." Her clear eyes flickered momentarily to the side, and Jafar knew she was lying. He always knew when somebody lied to him.

"You're quite sure I didn't anger you in some way?" he asked gently, half fearing her response. But she shocked him again, favoring him with another slight smile.

"I'm certain," she said just as gently. She jerked her head. "Let's go. We both need to get back to work." They started walking again.

"Work? What do you have to do at this time of night?" Jafar was honestly curious.

"I read," Anjum said calmly, then let another tiny smile escape. "Perhaps 'work' is not quite the correct term. I spend my nights reading, partially for pleasure, partially to become familiar with the books I take care of."

"And that's how you know everything about this place, isn't it?" Anjum laughed softly.

"It is indeed, good vizier. But," she said, pausing in front of the slightly open door, "here is where we part for the night." Jafar slid through the opening, then looked back over his shoulder, one long fingered hand still grasping the door.

"Good night. And if it's not inappropriate of me….you have very beautiful hair." He caught a glimpse of her shocked face, one hand springing to her hair, before he closed the door behind him. He smiled slightly to himself as he set back towards his chambers. All in all, it hadn't been a bad night.


	4. Chapter 4Being Remembered

**A/N: I'm very grateful to those of you who are reading this far. It really means a lot to me that you're taking time to read what I've written. But I feel I should warn you: this next chapter is long and mostly Anjum's POV. If you're waiting for other "Aladdin" characters besides Jafar, the Sultan and a kid Jasmine, the Genie will be making an appearance soon. Please review! Thanks. **

**Chapter 4**

_Anjum- Three Weeks Later_

"Hassan, do you have all the books on the vizier's list?"

"Of course, Anjum. They're on your desk," one of Anjum's many assistants replied. "But I'm afraid I cannot take them up to him today." Anjum sighed.

"Yes, you told me this morning. Go take care of your mother. I hope the burdock poultice we made helps her throw off the infection."

Hassan nodded fervently as he walked swiftly out of the Repository. Anjum cast her eye at the sundial. Another half hour until she closed the Repository. Surely the vizier could wait until then… But what if a half hour made the difference between completing his new bill tonight instead of tomorrow? A single day could make such a difference. Anjum sighed again, thinking of the sad state to which her poor country had fallen. Any change could only be a positive one, and the new vizier seemed bent on bringing about as many changes as possible. Making up her mind, Anjum beckoned to another of her assistants.

"Ithar, I want you to close the Repository tonight." Ithar's large brown eyes went even larger with excitement.

"Really, Anjum?" the girl asked eagerly. Anjum laughed, patting Ithar's cheek.

"Yes, I want to make sure you know how to do it properly."

"Ohhhh, thank you Anjum!" Ithar breathed, racing off. Anjum walked swiftly over to her desk to retrieve the bag of scrolls the vizier needed for this night's work. She then set out for the vizier's office with her precious burden.

The vizier's office, she knew, was on the second floor of the palace, directly above the throne room. She'd looked over the architectural plans of the palace and knew it could be reached from a passage behind the throne room. But she had never been to the office before. The old vizier had been just that: old, and had never called for anything from the Repository. Anjum was very curious about what the vizier's office looked like. It had been a long time since she'd left the Repository, Anjum suddenly realized.

She ran one hand along the smooth marble banister as she walked up the stairs. Her eyes were flickering from side to side, enjoying painted murals and colorful mosaics that she hadn't seen in years. Her reverie was broken as a squeaky tenor voice laced though the air.

"Answum!"

_Oh no,_ Anjum thought closing her eyes. _Keep your temper, keep your temper, keep your temper,_ she chanted silently to herself as she bowed low before her negligent Sultan.

"What are you doing up here, Anclun?" the Sultan asked curiously. "I don't think I've ever seen you outside the Repository."

With a silent apology to Hassan for her rudeness, Anjum replied, "You are correct, sire. I rarely leave the Repository. However, my errand-runner had to go to his parents' home today to care for his ill mother. Therefore, I decided to deliver these texts to the vizier myself."

"Ahh, yes, splendid!" the Sultan exclaimed happily. "I am quite pleased with Jafar; he really seems to know what he's doing." Anjum wasn't sure how to respond to this without getting herself beheaded. But the Sultan didn't mind. He bounced backwards on the balls of his feet, his round face lighting up. "Oho! Why, Jafar, we were just talking about you!'' Anjum looked over her shoulder, and found herself face to face with…the new vizier's sternum. She fought the urge to take a step backward because she knew if she did she would undoubtedly step on the Sultan. And she also knew that wouldn't end well for her. So she stood, stiffly sandwiched between the two men.

"Were you?" The vizier's silky voice sounded pleased as he courteously stepped back. Anjum smiled at him in a silent "thank you". She noticed his long hands twitch convulsively as she looked back down at the Sultan. _Does he have a condition? _she wondered idly.

"Oh yes," the Sultan twittered. "She said she had to deliver something to you." He looked past Anjum as if she weren't there. "So how are you getting on with the Repository Head?" Anjum felt her heart sink into her stomach. No matter how the vizier answered, she foresaw trouble for herself.

"The…official…Head," the vizier answered slowly, seeming to choose his words with care. "The official Head is a very pleasant gentleman," he said finally. The Sultan blinked his wide pale eyes in surprise.

"Why, Jafar, what do you mean by the _official _Head?"

"The gentleman is somewhat past his prime," the vizier said delicately. Anjum's heart was beating furiously in her chest. Her future, her very life, could hang on the Sultan's reaction to the vizier's words.

"But, the-the Repository has run smoothly for years!" the Sultan sputtered. He wheeled on Anjum. "Hasn't it?" he asked suddenly less sure of himself.

"I'm sure it has," the vizier said swiftly as Anjum opened her mouth to respond. Just as well. If anyone could help her, it was the vizier. Anjum knew her hot temper would only land her in trouble. "However, I expect that for a number of years, the Head of the Repository has not been…up to…running the Repository. I have had ample opportunity to observe the Repository. People go to Anjum for help." The vizier gestured to her with one of his long fingered hands. _No twitch this time,_ a small voice noted irrelevantly.

"She knows the Repository and every book within like the back of her own hand."

_Better!_

"She also appears to have mastered every craft and language the head of such an important library must know."

_Of course I have! _Anjum bit her lip to keep from yelling or laughing, she wasn't sure which. The vizier was certainly doing a fine job of pleading her case without appearing to do so. She had to remember to thank him later, assuming of course she wasn't banished. Or dead. But the Sultan, plucking at his lip nervously, was nodding.

"Well, dear me, it certainly is…unorthodox." He peered up at Anjum. "Well, well, Anjum, do you feel you are up to being the Head? Jafar here has certainly provided you an excellent reference." Suddenly numb, Anjum nodded. It couldn't be possible…but it seemed she might be made the Head of her beloved Repository. It was impossible! Absolutely impossible. Though a haze, she saw the Sultan beam up at the vizier.

"Well, I'll leave it up to you to get Aflum here established. And do be kind to the old Head. He has been very faithful. Yes, yes," the Sultan chortled to himself as he walked away, "highly unorthodox, but I leave it up to you, Jafar!"

Anjum slowly revolved to face the vizier. Forcing her lips apart, she croaked, "Am I…am I to be the Head? Truly?"

"It appears so," the vizier answered. Joy suffused every inch of her body. She hadn't thought it would be possible. She thought she would dedicate her life to the Repository, and then fade out of memory, all her love and care forgotten. But, not so! Oh, her name would be inscribed in gold with the names of all the other Heads. She suddenly felt giddy.

"I think…I think I should sit down," she breathed.

"Of course, my office is just here." She took a step, half blind with joy and stumbled. She felt one of the vizier's hands close about her elbow, gently guiding her. The distance to the office might have been two steps or a mile. Anjum was too distracted by her inner rejoicing to notice anything about the outside world. She felt herself being lowered into a chair, and then a goblet pressing against her lips. Blinking in confusion, she realized the vizier was holding a cupful of wine for her to drink.

"What is this for?" she asked, slowly letting go of her euphoria and coming back to reality.

"You looked like you were about to faint," the vizier said in a worried voice. Anjum laughed quietly, then louder, reveling in the release of her exuberant feeling. She noticed the vizier looked highly concerned.

"Don't worry. I'm not hysterical and I'm not going to faint." She laughed again. "I will, however take a drink of that if you are still offering." Wordlessly the vizier held out the goblet again and Anjum took a deep swallow.

"If I may ask," the vizier said cautiously, "why does becoming the Head mean so much to you?" Anjum tilted her head to one side as she thought.

"It means I'll be remembered. Everything I do for the Repository, the people who need it…I would still do. But knowing that I'll be remembered for doing what I love…it's almost intoxicating." A shiver ran down Anjum's back at the look in the vizier's eyes. They reflected understanding and… anger? "Besides," Anjum said lightly, trying to ignore the vizier's expression, "this means I'll be the first woman to officially hold a position of importance." She gasped quietly as the vizier's face turned hard.

"Yes, to be remembered for all your hard work…I can see why you're so excited." Anjum stared into his stony face.

"What's wrong?" Anjum asked gently. The vizier walked slowly across his office, staring into an hourglass.

"I know how people outside the palace think." His thick voice was low, almost dangerous. "I know what they need and who…who they blame." His slender hands balled up into sudden fists at his sides. "The people need coin, they need food, they need everything. If one good thing happens, the Sultan is praised. If one normal unfortunate day goes by," he turned back to Anjum, black eyes glittering, "they blame the vizier."

"You want to be remembered for helping the people?" Anjum guessed.

"I want to not be hated for trying to save them all!" the vizier hissed. Finally understanding, Anjum calmly stood and handed him the half full goblet.

"Drink," was all she said. When the vizier stared at her uncomprehendingly, she pointed silently to the goblet. She waited until he had emptied it before she spoke again. "To start with, anger won't get you anywhere. If you do things when angry the results will be worse than whatever had initially infuriated you. Second of all, as you aren't going to be Sultan anytime soon, you can make yourself visible to the people. Show them that you're trying to help. A few proclamations from 'the Royal Vizier' wouldn't hurt," she said thoughtfully," especially if they have quick results as well as long term." The vizier looked at her for a low moment, then bowed low before her.

"You really do have an answer for every question." He straightened from his bow. "If you don't have anything pressing you need to take care of, would you mind dining with me tonight? I have a number of ideas that I would like your opinion about." Anjum's mind flitted to the book waiting for her downstairs, a lecture on sorcery. Then, surprising herself, she pushed the book from her mind.

"Of course," she smiled. She noticed the vizier's hands twitch again.


	5. Chapter 5A Fateful Evening

**A/N: So I told you all the Genie would be making an appearance soon, right? Well, so is Iago…although not quite in form that you are all familiar with. Don't worry; the annoying parrot is on his way!**

**Chapter 5**

**Five Months Later**

_Jafar_

_He was running down a long alleyway strewn with garbage. It kept tripping him up and each time he fell he glanced over his shoulder, terrified. His pursuer never quite caught him but was always just a step behind, screaming and cursing. But it wasn't his pursuer who caused his flight. It was the vast shadow of a man behind the pursuer and the thin faced shrew the man called "wife". The runner tried to vault over a low wall, but slipped and fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. The boy felt large hands seize the back of his tunic and was hauled around._

"_You don't ever try and run from me again boy, d'you hear?" a low voice hissed. The runner twisted and turned, trying desperately to escape the grasp of the giant who held him. The giant's grasp only tightened as it raised a hand in the air. A long switch was in its hand. The runner tried to scream, but his mouth wouldn't open. He could feel blood seeping down his back as the switch came whistling down for the first blow. The runner watched in wide eyed terror as—_

CRACK.

Jafar's eyes snapped open. He lay still for a moment, willing his heart to stop pounding. His gaze rolled over to the balcony attached to his room. Apparently a thunderstorm had brewed during the night, opening the day with jagged bolts of lightning.

Jafar was grateful to the weather's good timing. His parents still haunted his nightmares, though he never thought of them during the sunlit hours. Every dream was the same, but they never ceased to make him wrench awake, covered in sweat.

He slid out of his bed and walked out into the rain. It served to chase away the remnants of his dream and wake him up the rest of the way. Shivering, Jafar moved grab a drying cloth, then to check the calendar he had made at upon discovering the heavy schedule laid upon the Royal Vizier. He had several audiences today with various merchants and tradesmen, and later in the day there was a banquet with a visiting dignitary. Jafar groaned quietly. The dignitary was a thoroughly unpleasant man whose country profited off of Agrabah's instability. Jafar shook his head, and set himself to preparing for the long day ahead.

The clouds had disappeared around noon, but the air still seemed to be filled with an ominous heaviness that had lasted into the evening. Jafar ignored the gloom, and swept into dining room, stealing himself for what lay ahead. Iago of Egypt had a caustic sense of humor, and always tried to turn any situation to his benefit. Master Diplomat Iago also was notorious for jumping viziers with treaties over the dinner table.

Iago's dark little eyes peered at Jafar over a large hooked nose. His red face cracked in a grin that could only be described as predatory. But Jafar was not the vizier for nothing.

"Good evening, Master Iago," Jafar said coolly, sliding into his waiting chair.

"Jafar," Iago squawked in reply, still smirking. Jafar mentally winced. How could a person have such a grating voice? "So, tell me, Jafar," Iago screeched, "who else I am to meet at this little dinner?" His beady eyes gleamed with barely suppressed mirth. Jafar felt his suspicion grow at that mirth. But as he had no proof that anything was wrong, Jafar pushed the feeling aside.

"Various members of the government, as well as-" Jafar's answer was cut off by a light female voice that made his heart stop.

"Good evening, gentlemen." Anjum, dressed in a robe of midnight blue that set off her eyes, walked to the dining table. Iago's eyes went very round for a moment, then traveled slowly up and down Anjum's form, an appreciative smile on his face. Jafar resisted the sudden urge to grab the other man by the throat.

"Well, this sure isn't the little princess," Iago said, leaning across the table. "So, who is she?"

"I can speak for myself," Anjum stated, politely, but with the flat look on her face that Jafar had come to understand meant she was internally seething. He could only assume she knew Iago's reputation, and was on the defensive of her country.

"Uh huh, I'll bet you can," Iago replied, his grating voice faintly tinged with mockery. "So, _who _are you?"

"The Head of the Repository," Anjum answered drawing herself up proudly, even as she gracefully lowered herself into her seat…the seat right next to Jafar. He shut his eyes for a moment. He _had _to learn not to be distracted by her presence, especially when he was working. When he opened his eyes, Iago was leaning even closer to Anjum.

"How did you manage that, exactly?" Iago asked, sounding honestly curious. "Let's face it, women don't really get to many jobs…or anything that means they have to get off their backs." Iago leaned back laughing raucously, as Anjum flushed, her face going even flatter. Jafar leaned across to the fat man, still laughing an awful wheezing laugh.

"She got the job because she was the best for it," Jafar said coldly, staring into the other man's beady eyes. "That's the new policy here…whoever's best gets the job." He smiled thinly at the now silent Iago. "I've noticed that system keeps things running much smoother, haven't you?"

Iago was saved from answering by the entrance of the Sultan, and his bratty daughter. Jafar's stomach dropped. It was bad enough that the Sultan was here. Jafar had a tough job ahead of him anyway, which was made even more difficult by the presence of the princess. Jafar knew he had his hands full, trying to make the Sultan look competent, fending off Iago's sly treaties, and making sure the little brat didn't accidentally do something that could have serious political repercussions.

Anjum turned her head slightly, catching Jafar's eye.

"I'll deal with the princess," she breathed. "You deal with the rude one."

"I thought you just said you would deal with the princess," Jafar muttered under his breath, and was rewarded by a small laugh.

As the Sultan settled himself into a chair, padded with a ridiculously large cushion so he could see eye to eye with his guests, Iago hoisted himself to his feet.

"Gentlemen," he said smugly, raising a goblet, "and lady, of course," indicating Anjum. "This is truly a great day. The day our countries join forces." The fog of premonition swept over Jafar again, but he raised his goblet with everyone else, and drank. The wine slid down his throat in a hard knot. Jafar assumed it was because he was wound so tightly. But to his horror, his chest, then his throat grew tighter and tighter. The goblet fell from his hand, hitting the floor with a clatter. His knees buckled as he struggled to take a breath, panic rising in him as his lungs screamed for air. He felt as though he was sinking into darkness, not able to breath, not able to unclench his limbs, his jaw so tight that he could feel his mouth filling with a copper-tasting fluid. _Blood, _he realized dimly. _I must be biting my tongue. _ He had the vague impression of Anjum swooping over him. But the last thing he heard before the blackness claimed him was Iago's self satisfied cawing laughter.


	6. Racing Against the Hourglasss

**A/N: To those of you who have reviewed, thank you so much! I've tried to take all of your advice to heart. To those of you who don't want to review, but made it these far, thank you too. A story would be nothing if it had no audience. A quick heads up, this chapter is a looong one, but hopefully you'll find it worthwhile. Enjoy! **

**Chapter Six**

_Anjum_

"Get a pair of bellows!" she commanded shortly, seeing how Jafar was struggling for breath. She leaned over him, probing at his tightened jaw, checking his pupils. It didn't have the marks of an epileptic seizure. As she swiftly examined the stiffened vizier, her mind was running the symptoms over and over. The only thing that fit what was before her was poison.

"Wolfsbane" she muttered darkly.

"What?" Iago squawked innocently.

"Wh-what did you say, Agrum?" the Sultan quavered, astonished by Jafar's sudden collapse. The princess didn't say anything; she was staring Jafar as though he was performing for her entertainment.

"I said wolfsbane," Anjum straightened, still intently observing Jafar. "He was poisoned."

"How do you know?" Iago asked, somewhat worriedly. Anjum ignored him, as a servant ran into the room with the bellows she had demanded. She showed the servant how to force the tip between Jafar's teeth and set him to pumping.

"We'll need to do this for several hours," she said to the servant. "I'll have someone brought to relieve you before your arms get too tired." She moved to leave the table but was halted by the Sultan's call.

"Wait, wait! How do you know he was poisoned? And how do you know so quickly that it was wolfsbane?" Fuming at the waste of precious seconds, Anjum turned.

"He seized up," she said shortly. "His lungs aren't moving, and he isn't foaming at the mouth. I need to check the antidote," Anjum stated calmly as she started to move to the door. "As long as we can get air into his lungs, we can hold the effects at bay, but we don't need to waste any time." She noted Iago's face as she moved swiftly to the door. For one blinding moment, terrible rage had shown on the Egyptian's face. It was obvious who was behind the poisoning. As long as Agrabah was in turmoil, Egypt profited. Jafar was proving to be worth his weight in gold to Agrabah, gold that Egypt was losing.

Her speed increased with each step until she was in a flat out run for the Repository. She knew she had a limited amount of time. The bellows would force air into Jafar's stilled lungs, but that would do no good if his heart stopped. She had to reach the medical room of the Repository, a mix of green house and laboratory where exotic medicine plants were grown.

Anjum sped into the Repository, startling people who were accustomed to seeing her walking sedately or behind a desk. She skidded into the medicine room, her skirts swirling around her feet, almost tripping her. But she wasn't sparing attention for anything other than the Chinese sumac growing by the wall. She paused only to snatch up a small bowl and a clean knife before she made her way over to the low, widespread tree. Underneath the tree was an ornate table holding a large vase containing dried gallnuts. The gallnuts were dried from a sticky substance that formed on the sumac's leaves, and were suspected to originate from a parasite.

Anjum shoved all thoughts and speculations of parasites from her mind. The best thing that had happened to her country since before Jasmine's mother died was upstairs dying. She had a job to do. Carefully she sliced a handful of the gallnuts into pieces that could easily be swallowed, then after a second thought sliced each bit in half. Anjum would have to force the pieces down Jafar's frozen throat, and the smaller the pieces were, the simpler her task would be.

She judged the pile of tiny pieces, then swept it into the bowl she had grabbed. Anjum cast a quick glance around the medicine room, trying to think if there was anything she had forgotten. But no helpful remedy sprang to mind, so she hastened out of the Repository, heading back towards the main banquet hall. The image of Jafar sliding into oblivion gave her fresh energy. She had never lost a patient since she had begun to study medicine, and Agrabah couldn't afford for her to lose this one.

There was a small cluster of anxious servants gathered just outside the door, all craning their necks, trying to see inside. One woman noticed Anjum and gave a small squeak of surprise, frantically pulling at the sleeve of a man next to her. The man turned his craggy face towards Anjum, and his eyes went wide.

"Will the vizier die?" the man asked her. Anjum shook her head, forcing the rising panic out of her mind.

"Not if I can help it," she said evenly. The man bowed low, followed swiftly by the other servants. She acknowledged their tribute, her mind already spinning to the task she had before her, and pushed the oversized door to the feast hall open. She was pleased to see that all unessential persons had cleared the room, and that there was a litter set up to transport Jafar as soon as Anjum gave her permission.

The servant who had brought the bellows had already been relieved. His replacement looked like he had been pulled from the blacksmith's shop, with arms and shoulders that looked like they belonged on a giant, not a mortal man. Anjum felt her breath catch in her throat as she observed the tableau before her. The man working the bellows seemed almost supernatural, with the gift of the vizier's life or death in his hands.

Anjum shook her head to clear her mind, and marched resolutely forward. That gift lay in her hands, and she intended the gift to be that of life. She paused when she reached the table and felt Jafar's pulse. Her heart plummeted, but then she felt a weak little flutter under her fingertips. Anjum allowed a brief smile to cross her face; Jafar's heart hadn't stopped and at the moment that was the most important thing. She spared a glance for the colossus manning the bellows.

"I'm going to have to force this down his throat," she told the man, indicating the bowl of gallnuts. "When I tell you, stop pumping and get the bellows out of his mouth. When I signal again, start pumping again." The man nodded silently, his forehead shining with sweat.

"Now!" Anjum's voice cracked like a whip. The bellows were out of Jafar's mouth and Anjum was forcing the gallnuts down his throat in less than a second. She felt the lump moving slowly, too, too slowly, downwards under her fingers. As soon as the lump passed the point of no return she signaled for the bellows to begin again. But to Anjum's horror, the tremulous fluttering didn't increase in strength. If anything, it seemed to grow even weaker. She rocked backwards, shocked. The man working the bellows looked at her in concern.

"What is wrong with him? Is the medicine not working?" he rasped anxiously. Anjum nodded mutely, hardly aware of the question. If course it would take some time for the gallnuts to take effect, but if Jafar's heart stopped before then, the gallnuts, the bellows, all of it, would serve no purpose. Her mind raced, almost desperately, trying to think if perhaps, unlikely though it was, perhaps there was something she had forgotten. Suddenly, a memory struck her like a bolt of lightning, a long buried image of blue smoke pouring into the mouth of a small lamp.

Furiously, Anjum tried to remember where she had seen it. Myths of djinn trapped in lamps were common, although few mortals ever actually come into contact with an enslaved jinni. Anjum knew she had been very young when she saw it, hiding behind…behind her mother! Yes, she must have been very young if her mother was there…but where?

Her eyes slid closed as she worked to remember the distant image. Slowly, pieces filled in, like a painting coming to life under the hands of an artist. The lamp had been on a shelf, in a cupboard, in an office…the Head of the Repository's office. This meant if it hadn't been moved, the jinni that could save Jafar's life was in her own office!

A tremor of hope quavered through her. As long as Jafar's kept beating, as long as she could find the lamp, then her patient, and all he represented, stood a chance of survival. She shot a quick look at the bellows man.

"Keep those bellows going," she ordered as she raced back out of the banquet hall. Once more she directed herself towards the Repository, but fear now fueled her steps. A wish made to a jinni could have vast consequences, but nothing could be done if she couldn't find the lamp. A black tendril of doubt slithered into Anjum's mind, riding the fear that was taking over her trained mind. What if the lamp was gone? What if the jinni had been freed from its prison? What if, what if, what if? Doubts began to swirl as Anjum burst through the vast doors of the Repository.

For the second time in less than half an hour, the patrons of the Repository was treated to the rare sight of the dignified Anjum pelting through the Repository, headless of the world around her. But this time, people cleared a path for her; news of the vizier's collapse had spread throughout the palace, and people understood that if anyone could save him, it was the new Head of the Repository. As Anjum sped by, people offered prayers to the various gods to which they knelt. Jafar had done so much for Agrabah and for the East in such a short period of time. Everyone understood what a tragedy it would be if he was lost.

Anjum skidded to a halt on the smooth tile mosaic floor of her office, the traditional office of the Repository Head. She looked frantically around, desperately trying to calm her mind, to remember where the lamp had been. The walls of her office were lined with shelves and cupboards. In her mind, an hourglass was trickling towards the inexorable conclusion of Jafar's life. Shaking her head in an effort to clear her mind, Anjum opened a cupboard at random. She tore through it, then another and another. Soon, all of the cupboards were hanging open, their contents littering the floor. Desperately, Anjum went back over each cupboard, fingers probing, hoping perhaps to find concealed drawers.

The upper bulb of her mental hourglass continued to empty.

One, two, three cupboards, and nothing. No helpful click, no hidden door swinging open. But in the cupboard directly behind her desk, in the uppermost left-hand corner was a little square of wood that didn't match the paneling around it. Hope clenched Anjum's throat as she raised her hand to the tiny square. It was so high that she had to stand on tiptoe to reach it. The square depressed at her touch and with a faint grinding the back wall of the cupboard swung open. There, on a dusty purple cloth rested the lamp, shining with its own light.

"Oh, please still be in there," Anjum breathed, reaching for the lamp. Gingerly, she rubbed its burnished surface with her hand. The lamp began to quiver, and multicolored smoked seethed from its mouth. The column of smoke grew and twisted until it reached the ceiling.

"Oh, baby, is good to be OUTTA THEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERE!"


	7. Chapter 7 A Storm of Panic

**A/N: Hello again, lovely readers! It's been a while, and I do apologize; life has been 30 different kinds of crazy for me. Thank you all so much for reading; a story can't exist if no one reads it. Just wanted to respond to a few of your reviews (for which I also thank you. Please, keep them coming!) Also, sorry this is a short one, but there's a lot (and by a lot, I mean HOLY COW, THAT'S A LOT!) of action coming, and I want to do each part of the story justice. So, yep, just sit tight, 'cause we're on a roller coaster, and we just got to the first hill. Loads of twists, turns, and loops to keep my awesome readers happy.**

**zitagirl: I know, the time does not seem adequate, as the Genie does specify that he'd been trapped in the lamp for 10,000 years (ignoring his tendencies towards being a drama queen). However, the story will take some twists and turns, and I assure you, it will work out in the end. Do you trust me? ;)**

**Plotbam3: Honestly, I only ever watched the first film. However, that is an interesting fact…but my story already has a definite shape. I will say only this: this is the tale of how Jafar became his dramatically rotten self that we all know and love. Also, I have watched "Twisted"! I'm a huge Team Starkid fan, and I think "Twisted" is the best show they've done yet. The pathos, the subtle (and not-so-subtle) digs at Disney, the depth of character…love it. But I did have the idea for this independently of watching that. OK, I took one or two ideas from them, but I kinda, well, **_**twisted **_**them to make 'em my own. **

**Chapter 7**

_Anjum_

The jinni was giant, blue, and bald. A small voice in Anjum's head noted that he looked remarkably like the man working the bellows upstairs.

"Well, I just gotta say, after all that time, boy, do I need to stretch my legs!" the jinni exclaimed, and to Anjum's astonishment his tail of smoke solidified into two legs, which then proceeded to elongate. "Wow, wow, wow-oo-wow!" He bent over backwards (Anjum presumed to stretch his back) and gave Anjum an upside-down grin full of white teeth that looked to be of an equal height to Anjum.

"Oh! But you're a little one!" Then the blue face scrunched up, and the jinni flipped over, lying on his stomach in midair. "Or are you…maybe." The jinni suddenly shook his head and threw out his arms in a "who cares?" manner. "Small or not, you are just adorable!" An enormous blue hand reached down and vigorously pinched Anjum's cheek. Anjum reeled, the stress that had been coiling inside her snapping at last. She was trying to save a life! A life upon which the life or death of her beloved homeland depended…and this overpowered jinni was playing the clown!

"_JINNI!" _ A scream ripped out of Anjum's throat, carrying all her fear and frustration in a wave of sound. "By the egg of your roc, Jinni, I need your HELP!" The force of her explosion was enough to send her rocking backwards, desperation clawing at her mind. Even now, the precious few seconds that had passed could have been too long.

The jinni's jaw dropped in shock, revealing a cavernous mouth that could have swallowed Anjum in one gulp. Then, with a small pop, and puff of blue smoke, the jinni stood before her, barely two hands taller than her. He bent over to look her in the eye.

"Uh, gee, ya know, it's OK. You don't hafta cry." Anjum raised a hand to her face, and was surprised to feel the dampness of tears on her cheeks. It had been years since she had cried over anything. The jinni patted her on the back, looking concerned. "Listen, girly, I know you need my help. You wouldn't have woken me up if you didn't. But," the jinni paused looking uncomfortable, "I gotta tell ya, there's a few things I just can't do."

Anjum shook her head, drained of anger, fear, and stress. The jinni was her last hope, and if he failed her, too, she didn't know what she would do. She was almost grateful for the numbness. Speaking carefully, as though the sound of her own voice might shatter her pseudo-sedation, Anjum said, "Tell me."

Three giant spinning white wheels appeared behind the jinni. "Well, then, first off. I can't kill anyone. Ever. Not my thing, sorry. It's just too gross." The first wheel ground to a halt, bearing the picture of a bloody knife, in a red circle with a line through it. "Second of all, I can't make anyone fall in love with anyone else. It's way too easy for things to turn into _West Side Story,_ so I just don't." Anjum peered at the jinni, but didn't ask for elucidation. She didn't want to drive him off on a tangent when seconds were slipping away for Agrabah. And Jafar.

The second wheel, now also still, bore the image of a strange red flower, also in a circle with a line through it. "And last of all, I can't bring anyone back from the dead." The third wheel came to a stop, emblazoned with a green man with a flat black head, and small protuberances in his neck. As with the other two, the man was encircled and slashed through with red. The three pictures started to blink on and off with an unnatural light, and the sound of a happy bell started to ding. "So, those are the rules. Anything else and I'd be happy to help."

Anjum felt as if her heart was paused between beats, as though it wasn't sure whether or not to keep beating. "If you can't bring someone back from the dead," she said slowly, still in that carefully neutral voice, "can you stop someone from dying?" Another puff of smoke, and the jinni was clothed in an odd white robe, holding a brown rectangle with sheaves of parchment in one hand, and a stylus in the other.

"What is he dying of?" The question was prompt, and as clinical as Anjum could have hoped.

"Poison. Wolfsbane in his wine." Anjum threw a glance at the hourglass on the desk, and was stunned. "About a quarter of an hour ago." How could so much be packed into such a short period of time? It felt like at least an hour had passed since Jafar had dropped his goblet, with his eyes bulging in horror.

The jinni paged through the sheets he was holding, so quickly that the pages disappeared into a white blur.

"Uh hah, lemme look, lemme look. Wolfsbane, growth, care, vampires, Lon Chaney Jr., ah hah! Lethality!" The jinni grinned, with a smile that distended his lower jaw, showing brilliant white teeth, nearly a foot in height. "Found it!" His hand traced down the page, moving back and forth even swifter than he had shuffled through the pages, and he muttered to himself.

"Oh, honey, are you in luck! Alright, you just need to say the words. I gotta hear them before I can do anything."

"What words?" Anjum croaked. Her wild swing of emotions had drained her, leaving her swaying as she stood. The jinni looked at her carefully.

"You gotta wish." Anjum felt the insane desire to laugh. Wish? Her whole life she'd been wishing for things. But the only ones that came true were because of her hard work, and occasionally a bit of luck. Never did something just happen because she had merely wanted it. On the other hand, never before had she had a jinni at her disposal. Besides, this wish was no _mere _want. Over the past few minutes, the question of Jafar's life—or lack thereof – had become as important as air to Anjum.

She craned her head back to look the jinni right in his wide eyes.

"I wish you to save the life of the Vizier of Agrabah, Jafar, from death by wolfsbane."

The jinni grinned another impossibly large grin and laughed.

"Well, where is he? Let's go make some magic!" The jinni threw his hands in the air, and a series of brightly colored fireworks exploded from his outstretched fingers

"The dining hall," Anjum said. At the burst of fireworks, a preternatural calm had settled over Anjum. She was still concerned, but in a disinterested way. A suspicious little voice in her mind whispered that the jinni was the cause, but Anjum was grateful for the calm. Medicine and politics were for the rational minded, not the hysterical, and this situation covered both those categories.

The jinni sucked in a huge gasping breath of air, causing a contained whirlwind to form in the room. A spun around for a few moments, increasing in speed and height before enveloping the jinni's lower half. Anjum felt herself being drawn in to the minor tempest, and would have been thrilled to travel djinn-style, if not for the serene calm that cushioned Anjum's mind like a gentle blanket. It was that clarity of mind though, that prompted her to reach out for the dingy lamp, still laying on the desk, before she was pulled in to the traveling storm.


	8. Chapter 8 Missing in the Mist

**Chapter 8**

_Jafar_

The last thing he actively remembered was the feeling that his lungs had slackened, and try as he might to fill them, they remained loose and empty. _No,_ he thought, drifting in a_ gray _haze, _that's not right. _The last thing he remembered was panic. Unreasoning panic, surging upward from the pit of hisstomach as his limp lungs burned for air. Then the gray mist swirled in front of his eyes and kept him captive.

He had no concept of how much time had passed, if any had at all. He had no sense of feeling, only drifting idly through the clouds. _Perhaps the drink killed me,_ he thought. He was mildly surprised that the idea of death didn't bother him.

The mist continued to swirl.

The memory of the man vaguely considered his situation. He was sure he had been a man, though any other details of his life tantalizingly eluded him. Wisps of memory seemed to dart past his eyes, but it all slipped away. A sunlit pomegranate. Gone. An older boy, running off with a satchel. Gone. An almost beautiful woman, surrounded by scrolls, lamp light reflecting off her dark hair. Gone. The memory of the man amused himself for some time, watching the pictures flash by, and promptly forgetting their content.

The haze was dull, but not unpleasant. Truly, he had almost forgotten the haze existed at all, when it suddenly changed. Two spots appeared in his vision growing larger and larger. The mist seemed to recoil from the spots, which began to take on colors. One was red and green and yellow and blue. The other seemed to shift from red to blue, never quite fully becoming one or the other. It seemed to be a constantly changing shade of purple. He looked at them, drawn to both and neither at once. The multicolored one seemed somehow familiar, while the purple one seemed alien, yet inviting.

He tried to move towards the spots, but found himself incapable. He looked down at where he assumed his body should have been, but saw only more mist, lit by the ever growing spots.

Out of the purple shape emanated music, beautiful and unearthly. Joyous and sorrowful music blended together in a symphony of emotion. Voices, strings, drums, and strange sounds that buzzed the sluggish air into melody. The memory of the man would have reached a hand towards the music if he had a hand to reach with. The sounds inspired a burning flame of memory that did not vanish as the other scraps had. Whoever he had been, and where-ever, the memory of the man had loved music, the way it reached into his heart and moved his emotions around with only a sound.

Out of the multi-colored shape came no sound. Instead, a river of pure energy seemed to flow outwards. The energy and the music reached him at the same time and enveloped his consciousness. Both called out to him, debated over which should take him fully, sweetly maneuvering around each other in wordless battles. The purple seemed to be winning, for the other rip in the mist began to recede away, when all of a sudden its blinding energy crashed over him with all the force of a tsunami wave. The music faded away and the purple light dimmed back, shrinking into grey nothingness.

The mist, too, was being altered. Long arms of color spread from the original patch, dying his surroundings with light and crackling energy. One of the tendrils pierced where the memory of the man's heart should have been, and his consciousness was rocked with memory. Days, nights, laughter, sorrows, they all came flying back into his mind. _Jafar,_ whispered the days. _Jafar, _cried the nights. _Jafar, _the laughter bubbled and the sorrow howled.

"Jafar?" a woman's voice asked in a hushed tone. At that sound, the mist darkened into the blackness found behind closed eyelids. Jafar groggily opened his eyes to see the relieved features of Anjum above him. In a moment of panic, he wondered what she was doing in his chambers…then realized that he, himself, was not in his chambers.

"Why am I on the floor?" he croaked. To his befuddled annoyance, Anjum didn't answer. Instead, she let out a gusting breath and looked over Jafar to someone he couldn't see.

"You did it," she breathed. "You really did it."

"Are you tellin' me you had _doubts_?" an incredulous, unfamiliar voice replied. Jafar saw Anjum flush. From some irrational part of his brain, a tiny jealous voice hissed that she'd never flushed at anything _he'd _ever said. Jafar feebly ignored it. He had been ignoring it for the past few months, and now was no time to start listening to it. Besides, he felt pain, as if someone had been beating with a stick. A very large, ugly stick. He should be concerned with that.

He was conscious of the fact that he was tremendously weak, because with every passing moment he felt stronger. But he was also aware of the fact that he was starting to black out again. Dimly, he heard Anjum's voice again, as through from a great distance away.

"I thought you healed him!" And then, again, the unfamiliar voice.

"Uh, listen, honey, there was some major poisoning here. I flushed it out of his system…" the voice continued, but Jafar didn't hear what was said.

Jafar came to sometime later. As his eyes blearily scanned his surroundings, he realized this time he actually was in his chambers. The light spilling through the arched opening to the balcony was a soft gray, and he judged it was predawn. He felt remarkably alert, considering he had just been poisoned. Groaning quietly, he stretched, relishing in the feel of the sheets sliding over his loosening limbs. A rustling caused him to glance hastily across his chambers. He relaxed a moment later, when the form of the palace physician emerged from the shadows.

The portly little physician moved with a speed that surprised Jafar. Worry bit into his mind, until he saw the broad grin wreathed around the physician's face.

"Well, Physician Qasim?" Jafar asked, trying to put as much of a plea for information as he could into those few words.

"At last you're awake! I know Lady Anjum said you would be in a coma for a period of time as the wolfsbane finished draining from your system, but I will admit I was beginning to be privately worried. But then, when has she ever been wrong before?" Qasim shook his head ruefully. "It's a shame she cannot be admitted to the _madrasa_; she would make a fine physician." Jafar didn't hear Qasim's last sentence. All he heard was the word _coma._

"How long?" Jafar croaked. He couldn't bring himself to ask the full question; "_How much time have I_ _lost?"_ Qasim frowned as he thought for moment.

"Four days."

_Four days._ The words hung in the air. Four days gone forever. Jafar understood he'd needed those days to heal, and without them gone, he wouldn't have a single day left on earth at all. But they were just…gone. No memory. No experience. Just nothingness and the knowledge that time had passed. For some reason, Jafar had some trouble wrapping his head around the idea.

Jafar fell back against his pillow with a groan. But before he could dive into a momentary bout of self pity, a thought struck him. Leaning up on his elbows, he looked Qasim in the eye.

"In those four days, what manner of investigation was there?" Qasim shifted uncomfortably. Jafar hardened his voice. "I highly doubt that anyone who hates me enough to kill me would wait this long to get to me. That means it was political." A small firework of self-satisfied realization burst into his mind. "Which also means I'm doing something right."

Qasim laughed a dry, professional little cough of a laugh. "Indeed you are, Vizier. There was an investigation begun, although it seemed rather pointless." Seeing Jafar's raised eyebrows, Qasim laughed dryly again. "You mistake my meaning. After you were affected by the wolfsbane, the banquet hall was cleared. After the Lady Anjum declared you able to be moved, naturally everyone gathered to hear the news. Except for one individual." Qasim raised his eyebrows significantly, and Jafar's chest tightened.

"Let me guess," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "Master Diplomat Iago vanished in the night." Qasim nodded. Jafar closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted to be able to mull this over in private, though he knew it was unlikely he would be able to. He determined to carefully think everything over, but with a face as devoid of change as a statue.

He swung his feet off the bed (and spared a breath to be grateful that whomever had put him to bed had left his cotton under drawers on) but was stopped by Qasim's hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sure there are many things you need to do, and even more that you wish to go do, but I need to examine you first." Jafar frowned.

"I thought you said the reason for my coma was so the toxins could drain from my body." Qasim nodded, but smiled like a man who often must explain the simple things he does.

"You have been unconscious for four days. Even if there are no lingering aftereffects of the wolfsbane, you have had neither food nor liquid for that whole time." Qasim's eyebrows quirked upward. "Now, don't you think there might be a few negative effects of that condition?" Jafar quietly groaned again.

"Physician, you make me feel like a schoolboy again." Qasim laughed quietly as he prodded Jafar's chest.

"I assume you don't mean that I make you feel youthful and carefree."

"Well," Jafar admitted, "youthful. But youthful and full of errors." The round little man paused in his examination to look his vizier in the eye.

"You _are _young, Vizier, remember that. Remember this too: young men make mistakes. They lack the wisdom to avoid the errors. But if from those errors they learn, then they aquire the wisdom to avoid the next one." Jafar blinked in surprise that he had been so obivous, but Qasim wasn't finished. "You are a very brilliant young man, and a good hearted one. If you manage to keep both those qualities, and acrue wisdom from the mistakes you will make, then I think Agrabah has little to fear for the next several decades. Particulary," Qasim smiled again, a smile Jafar couldn't quite fathom, "with our loyal Repository Head here to save you from the next assasination attempt."

Qasim swiftly finished his examination and turned to leave.

"I'll have the kitchens send up a tray for you. Start with the liquid, then eat the food, slowly." Jafar nodded his thanks as the physician trundled out of the room. Once his chamber door had clicked shut, Jafar carefully stood. He hated showing weakness of any kind, and even clumsy standing after recovering from an illness counted as a weakness. That was why the physician's insightfulness had surprised him. Qasim could read people well, but Jafar was sure that it wasn't only Qasim's talent that had inspired the mini-lecture. Jafar shook his in annoyance as he slowly made his way across his chambers to his private bath. He was sure that he had been far too open. While he trusted Qasim, a slip made once could be made again.

He smiled ruefully to himself as Qasim's words floated back to him. _…if from those errors they learn…I think Agrabah has little to fear… _The physician was a well respected man, and his approval meant a great deal to Jafar.

As he sank, flinching, into the cold water, Jafar's thoughts turned to Iago. Here was potential for a great number of mistakes. Iago could have been acting on instructions from his government. If so, then the repercussion from Agrabah would almost certainly be violent, and could scale up to war. Jafar shuddered, and this time not from the water. War was the last thing he wanted. In numbers and training, he was confident that the Agrabain army could match the Egyptians, but the terrain between the two nations was so hostile that for an army to march across it was tantamount to suicide.

Suddenly, Jafar was struck by a thought. Perhaps that was what the Egyptian pharoah desired. Either Jafar's death would leave Agrabah esentially leaderless again, or the army would be sent on a punative mission that would result in the destructtion of the Agrabain army, leaving the country completely open to invaders.

Shifting against the wall of his bath, Jafar closed his eyes. Part of his heart longed to seek out who was behind the attack, and exact vengence. But if he were so foolish as to make it personal, the whole of Agrabah would suffer. Involuntarily, he groaned and squeezed his eyes tighter. The two disciplines —the cultivated blank professionalism, and the long burning fury, born in his boyhood and buried deep within-warred within him. He had clawed his way to the position of Royal Vizier, despite the world that surrounded him holding him down, for the sake of his country. Jafar had aways known he could be the strong guide, pulling Agrabah away from pit in which it was sinking. He wouldn't call it patriotism—more pragmatism. If his nation crumbled around him, any chance at living a life as he chose was out of the question.

There was one way, though, that he could be the professional and protect his realm, and also satisfy his need for vengence. It would require patience, but there was a way, and Jafar knew that he would do anything to punish the person who had tried to kill him. Even have patience.

A thin, humorless smile curved Jafar's narrow lips, and his eys opened to narrow slits. His would-be assain would be the scapegoat for all of Jafar's impotent fury at the world. _At your parents, _a small voice whispered in his mind. _After all,_ Jafar mused, _wouldn't it be healthier to find one channel for all that anger than it would be to take it out on the world? _ Besides, if he were so foolish as to let anger consume him, it would blind and bind him. No, if he indulged his anger, then it must be with care and discretion, else his own rage would be the tool that would undo him.

Jafar hadn't realized how tightly he was holding himself until he relaxed, tipping his head back against the cool marble ledge of his bath. The top of the water was disturbed by his movement, and sloshed back and forth in small waves, tugging playfully at the ends of his thin dark hair, now just at the water level. His eyes sild closed again, but simply as a surrender to sensation, and not as a symptom of clenching anger. He knew there would be a great deal waiting for him when he emerged; a recap of the past four days was definitely in order, and he would have to tread carefully to play the politics. But even the drive to go, to get events in settled and others in motion, could not touch him for the moment. Jafar lay there, partially supported by the water, lost in the void of the seemingly endless moment. It was so peaceful. A small smile, more humourous than its predecessor, quirked the corners of his mouth. Peace was a good feeling. Such a pity it couldn't last. _But that's the way the land lies, _Jafar thought. _Stability is worth working for. But peace? Peace is a daydream._ His head lolled against the ledge. _But such a pleasant daydream._


	9. What A Difference Four Days Make

**Chapter 9**

_Jafar_

_Later that morning_

The Egyptian diplomat had not disappeared quite as hastily as Jafar had assumed. A document had been discovered in the diplomat's chambers, citing an immediate recall back to Egypt, explained by a number of perfectly acceptable reasons. Jafar did not doubt the truth of Iago's being recalled, only the reason why. The document also assured the fine government of Agrabah (upon reading those words, Jafar's lips compressed slightly at the irony) that a new diplomat would be sent to Agrabah, post haste.

Walking into his office for the first time all day, Jafar was halted in his tracks by the mounds of papyrus and clay tablets on his desk. He stared for a long moment, trying to calculate the amount of work he could accomplish in a day, and then multiplied it by four. Surely this was too much! Perhaps this was someone's unintelligent idea of a prank. Moving to his desk, Jafar began to sort through the stacks. This was not a prank. This was simply four lost days.

Jafar sighed quietly. Here was solid evidence that he was moving the government in the right direction, but that there was still a long trek ahead of him. Things were moving more efficiently, but he still had to keep personal control over the official goings-on. He would have many long nights of work ahead of him before he broke even.

A sharp, one-two knock at the door brought Jafar to a momentary pause. In a palace of self-important bureaucrats and scurrying servants, only one person knocked like that.

"Good morning, Lady Anjum."

"Didn't I tell you weeks ago to drop the formalities?" she asked brusquely, stepping over the threshold. Jafar opened his mouth to reply, but she held up a hand, silencing him. He stood there, bemused, as she stared intently at him for a long moment before she dropped her hand.

"I almost didn't believe it when the physician told me you woke up," she said quietly. Jafar's eyebrows quirked upwards in surprise.

"He told me that you were the one who acted and saved me…" His voice trailed off questioningly as Anjum flinched.

"Yes," she said quietly, not quite meeting his eye. "I suppose I did." Jafar was surprised. In the few months he had been at the palace, he had known her to be stubborn, ironic, and fiercely protective of herself and those in her domain. But she had always stood tall, and spoke with confidence. Standing before him was a woman he didn't recognize; she looked unsure and shaken. Anjum was a pillar in the society of the palace, and she appeared to be crumbling. He opened his mouth again, to say something, anything, to dispel the tension that had pulled Anjum so taut. But, again, she was quicker than he.

"You missed," she said in voice that was two steps away from quavering, "a great deal while you were recovering."

"I'm going to assume you aren't speaking of the backlog of my day-in, day-out work?" Jafar asked gently. He had the curious idea that if he spoke too loudly or suddenly, Anjum would shatter into a myriad of sharp pieces. A wry, almost-smile pulled at Anjum's face, but her shoulders rounded as she hunched into herself.

"What happened to you?" breathed Jafar. Anjum snorted softly.

"A great deal." She straightened a little, finally looking Jafar in the eye. "However, not all of it is pertinent to you." She glanced at the overburdened desk, and an expression of relief dashed across her face. She took a long breath before turning back to Jafar. "You do have a great deal to catch up on; I just wanted to see for myself that all was well." She took a hasty step backwards, towards the door. "I won't disturb you for any longer." Anjum took another step, and appeared as though she would flee at any moment.

"Wait!" Anjum's shoulders tightened again.

"What is it?" she asked carefully.

"You said not all of what happened to you is pertinent to me. Which means some of it is." Jafar stopped, unsure where he was going with this. "If it concerns me, shouldn't I be aware?" he finished weakly.

Anjum just looked at him. It was as though flesh had been transmuted to stone, for she stood so still, for so long, that it seemed she was a statue.

"I will tell you." The words were so quiet that Jafar almost thought he had imagined them. "I promise I will. But—but not now." Her voice broke. "Later. I thought I could… but not now." Jafar took a step closer to her, concerned, but she shook her head wildly. "No," said Anjum. "No. You don't need to—" She took a deep steadying breath, and began again.

"You are valuable as a Vizier. If you'd died, everything would have fallen back to the way it was before. And besides," a sad little smile broke out, "you're the first person I could call a friend. What would I do if I'd lost that?" Leaving her words hanging in the air, she wrenched herself erect, turned smartly on her heel and hastily walked out of the office.

Jafar was dumbfounded. He had anticipated perhaps another report about his four lost days, which she seemed to have hinted out, or maybe even for her to check over her handy work. After all, if he owed his life to her, wouldn't it stand to reason that she would be proud of her medical achievement? He had heard somewhere that physicians saw every person they had treated as a personal victory. Nothing he could have imagined would have come close to the reality of what happened. Although, it had happened so fast that there was a surreal, dreamlike quality about the whole thing.

Then another strange thought struck him. Anjum had called him her friend. He furrowed his brow, thinking hard. They had spent a great deal of time in each other's company, and it was true, they did not always converse about policy. He certainly had his own private thoughts whenever she entered the room, but a quiet little attraction was not a friendship. Could men and women even _be _just friends? They married, and sometimes they respected each other, but friendship? Moreover, and more importantly, could _he, _Jafar, be someone's friend? Friendship seemed to be a luxury for very small children, not for an ambitious Vizier. On the other hand, she did provide insights. On the other hand, can insights alone be grounds for friendship?

It mainly boiled down to this, Jafar realized. If he was friends with the Head of the Repository, not just colleagues, did that create a weakness in his front? Did it create a potential weakness within himself? Could he allow himself that luxury? Then logic was pushed from his mind as memories came flooding in. The evenings they had spent together, ancient law texts pushed away, talking quietly, and sometimes not so quietly. Jafar sat for a long, still moment. The fact was, he admitted to himself, he enjoyed her company, even when they weren't discussing treaties, tariffs, and testaments. As dangerous as it was, he enjoyed having someone intelligent to talk to at the end of the day.

His already furrowed eyebrows contracted then into one long line of apprehension. What could have happened to cause as strong a person as Anjum to weaken so? It could not be anything common knowledge; no one else had told Jafar of the kingdom's impending doom. No-one had hinted that an unspeakable disaster had rocked the palace. _Apart from the attempted assassination of the Royal Vizier, of course,_ an ironic voice added in his mind.

Whatever it was that had so distressed the unshakable Anjum must have been something that had happened to her and her alone. Jafar pushed down the urge to go after her and demand that she tell him exactly what had happened. She had promised that she would tell him, and to force the story out of her would only drive a wedge between them. Particularly when he considered the fact that she believed him to be her only friend. A memory of a past conversation flickered through his mind.

"_It must be a lovely thing," Anjum said quietly, the amber glow of the lamp reflecting in her deep blue eyes, "to be able to fully trust another person." Jafar snorted. Her eyes flicked to his face, a small frown creasing her forehead. "What is that supposed to mean?" she asked crossly._

"_Trust is overrated," Jafar replied. "No one in the world owes you anything, and your family will only demand undue honors from you." His voice hardened as he spoke of family and the frown softened out of Anjum's face. _

"_My memories of family are few and far between," she admitted, "but I recall nothing so very harsh as you seem to recall." _

_Jafar's jaw clenched for a moment before he was able to answer._

"_Let's just say my father wanted more from me than I was able to give him."_

"_And your mother?" Anjum asked gently, leaning closer. _

"_My mother," Jafar sneered, uncharacteristic bitterness saturating his voice, "my mother was an empty-headed shrew who cared only for her own comfort." As if in response to his vehemence, the lamp flame guttered and shook, sending writhing shadows far up the walls and rendering Anjum's face into a grotesque parody. _

"_Yet you seem to have turned out reasonably well, despite them." A sly look passed across Anjum's face. "Or would that be _to_ spite_ _them?" Knocked off balance, and out of his sudden contempt, Jafar could only stare across the table at her. She continued thoughtfully, "It is very true that no-one in this world owes anyone else anything upon a first meeting. But as people share experiences, wouldn't they eventually owe each other something, if only owing the shared memory?" Her narrowed eyes glinted in the light. "And if a person has proven worthy of trust, time and again… well, wouldn't that eventually be worth something?"_

"_I think," Jafar said dryly, "the vernacular term for what you describe, is 'friendship'." Anjum chuckled to herself. _

"_I didn't think this world allowed for that."_

"_Exactly."_

_Exactly. _Jafar's words from all those months ago echoed in a ghostly whisper in his ear. It did seem wrong that after nearly half a year of shared life he was forced to give serious consideration to whether or not he could allow himself to think of another person—of _her_—as something more than a mere acquaintance.

A tremor ran through his lean frame. There was a very good reason why he was fighting the temptation. The danger to himself, and even more so to _her, _ was undeniable. The shadow of his father still hung over Jafar, as well as anyone he dared to allow close. A groan ripped from Jafar's throat as an ache of guilt and stress and furious _want_ slammed into his stomach. It didn't matter what he wanted, though. The important thing was to keep himself free. Himself free, and her safe.

He squared his shoulders. When Anjum next appeared, he would accept whatever information he required, after which he would very firmly tell her that her ideas of friendship were misguided. His stomach clenched yet tighter. Jafar knew with every fiber of his being that after that conversation, Anjum of the Repository would most likely hate him forever. But it wasn't important. As long as she wasn't a part of Jafar's life, she would be safe.


	10. To Build A Line of Defense

**Chapter 10**

_Jafar_

The suffocating piles of busywork on the desk of the Royal Vizier kept Jafar imprisoned in his seat through the rest of the day. His only reprieve had been when the Physician Qasim arrived out of the noonday heat, accompanied by a servant bearing a tray covered in chilled cucumbers, grilled chicken atop sparkling green peas, and slices of melon. The physician had very carefully watched Jafar eat, and then checked Jafar's pulse and breathing. The pear shaped man had walked out of the office, chuckling to himself at the end of the session. Rather than wondering what had so amused the revered physician, Jafar melted back into the work awaiting him.

The shadows gradually lengthened against the wall, and still Jafar worked on, determinedly ignoring the world around him. The color of the light changed from clear to red to gray, and Jafar only paid enough heed as to light a lamp, and still he worked on. His eyes moved over endless documents, his hands sorting, making notes, and drawing up replies. The world outside his window could have vanished in a mighty clap of thunder, and still Jafar would have kept working, oblivious to all.

Oblivion. Precisely what he wanted.

The decision he had made in the morning's confusion promised only loneliness, but there was nothing new in that. From a purely pragmatic standpoint, it would be a shame to lose the Repository Head as an ally, but there would be others allies he could find. Jafar had set himself onto a certain road long ago, and so he would continue down it. With every line of words and numbers, he pulled a shell about himself, shutting out the outside world, totally focusing himself, forcing the pain out of his mind.

The night's thick darkness pressed tightly around Jafar's desk, barely held at bay by his flickering lamp. Stars rose and swirled across the sky in their endless migration, and Jafar saw only the words in front of his nose.

The light of the waxing half moon was beginning to creep past the window sill when quiet, almost hesitant, one-two knock intruded though the soft night sounds. Jafar's head snapped back at the sound, like prey sensing the first quivering presence of the stalking hunter. He newly crafted shell nearly cracked for a moment, but then iron bands solidified around his mind.

He stood carefully, rolling forward onto the balls of his feet, stretching his legs after long hours in his seat. He then crossed his office, unhurried, to the door. The door opened smoothly, and unsealed the portal between his safe hidden self and all that lay beyond.

Anjum stood on the other side, looking more composed than she had when she fled earlier, but still had an air of rattled fragility about her. She raised her eyebrows in greeting and opened her mouth to speak, but this night it was Jafar's turn.

"Good evening, Lady," he welcomed her coolly. The distinct lack of warmth seemed to hit her like a physical strike, for she took a sudden step back in shock. A small voice in Jafar's mind protested this cruelty, but was violently silenced. If any part of his mind still cared about her, then this was the wisest course.

Wasn't it?

"What happened to _you_ today?" Anjum asked quietly, her voice barely stirring the air.

"I don't understand your question," Jafar lied smoothly.

Anjum took a step forward, intently peering at him. Then her searching gaze solidified into one of disgust.

"You think I'm some damn fool _woman_, don't you?" she hissed. "After all this time, you think I need someone to depend on." She laughed a short, bitter laugh. "Perhaps I made a mistake calling you a friend. A friend is someone to trust, and if you think so low of me, I was obviously wrong."

"Of course not," Jafar purred, and was almost too shocked to continue. _He sounded like his father!_ But Jafar swallowed away the bile that had risen in his throat at that horrifying thought and continued.

"I'm sure I must apologize if you feel misled, but we are only colleagues. There is nothing more between us."

Anjum's eyes flashed, then hardened, turning into furious sapphire flakes.

"Nothing _more._" She repeated Jafar's words in a low, icy voice. Her whole frame tightened, which was something Jafar had seen many times in his few months at the palace. Anjum had a fiery temper, and even after years of self-training, she had to work diligently to keep herself from lashing out.

_Let her hate me,_ a low voice breathed grimly in his mind. _It's for her own good after all. _

"There is far more between us than you may care to admit." Anjum's voice stung like a harsh wind off the desert. "If nothing else, you owe me your life." Her eyes narrowed even further. "And you owe me so very much more than that."

"I am quite grateful for your actions," Jafar replied, "but I don't see what more I owe—"

He was cut off as Anjum's hand blurred suddenly through the air, connecting with his jaw, the sound of a resounding _slap_ arcing through the room. Jafar glanced hurriedly at Anjum in consternation as he instinctively cupped his aching cheek. But to his surprise, she wasn't glaring, her face wasn't contorted with emotion, and she certainly did not look like a woman who had just slapped someone in the face.

She looked quite calm and composed, as a matter of fact.

"Now then," she said, breezing past Jafar, "you are going to sit down, and tell me what this is all about."

"What _what_ is all about?" he asked, wincing as the reddened skin of his face stretched and contorted.

Anjum didn't speak. She merely pointed to one of the elegant chairs next to the overflowing desk.

Jafar did not sit. He looked Anjum straight in her anomalous blue eyes.

"You don't want to know," was all he said.

"That is incorrect," she replied quietly, not moving her pointing hand. Jafar felt his face grow warm with frustration. He had prepared himself for an outburst, a tirade of emotion, perhaps the wrenching numbness Anjum hid her emotions behind. But this? This perfect composure? This defied anything he could have expected.

He sat.

"You will tell me why you are doing," Anjum paused, then gestured vaguely at Jafar, "_this,_ and then I will fill you in on what you need to know." Her eyes darkened. "What you missed."

"And what more I owe you?" Jafar asked, honest curiosity piercing his self protection. Anjum stood still for a long moment.

"We'll see," was all she said. Jafar hesitated a bare moment before responding.

"I was not lying," he said, "when I said that you truly don't want to know why this is happening. You just need," his breath caught here, and he had to compose himself before continuing. "_I need you to accept that this is what it is." _

Anjum looked at him, her expression unchanging. Jafar grew instinctively uncomfortable under her still gaze. After far too long, she closed her eyes, relieving Jafar of the pressure of her intense stare.

"You know I can't do that."

The wall of protection that Jafar had built around himself began to crumble. If he couldn't persuade her to sever all ties with him, then perhaps it would be wiser if she knew the truth.

Or perhaps it would only make things worse.

"Fine." A humorless smile compressed Jafar's lips. "You may wish to sit down. The story is rather…long."

Anjum nodded slowly, and sank into the second chair. Jafar leaned back, gathering his thoughts, and prayed that he was doing the wise thing.

"This morning you called me 'friend' and in doing so, brought to my attention the great danger I have placed you in. Anyone who is close to me is in danger, and this creates a particular threat to me. This is why there was no one close to me." Jafar felt his jaw tighten. "Until now."

"Begin at the beginning," Anjum said, sitting unusually rigid. "If you begin in the middle you'll only make a mess of things."

"The beginning?" Jafar closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists, nails cutting deep into his skin. "The beginning was a very long time ago."

"Then start a very long time ago." Jafar opened his eyes, and threw his fate to the four winds.

"Many years ago there was a man. A very powerful man, and it grew that power was all he craved. He was a member of the aristocracy, and he turned his eyes to the throne. To make a long story short, the man failed in his coup, and was executed, along with his wife. But the man's son escaped. The son learned from his father's failure, and sought new roads to dominance, roads that were more concealed. The son found himself an alchemist, and convinced the alchemist to take him on as a student.

"The alchemist had a daughter who could speak to spirits, and the son wanted that power for himself. But he never could manage the trick, so he married the girl. Once the son had learned everything he could from the alchemist, the alchemist…disappeared. Astonishingly, the girl stayed with the son, even produced two children for him. The children were brothers, and were raised to hunt for power. The boys learned alchemy from their father and necromancy from their mother. When each one turned thirteen, he was sent into the world to seek his own knowledge. The idea was that they would have different strengths and support each other. By this point, the whole thing had turned into the idea of a dynasty, with each generation growing stronger, and more hidden than the former.

"The elder of the brothers found an old zealot, and learned of the dominance of the mind, and how that dominance could be projected onto other people. The younger learned how to walk in the shadows, and how to bend darkness to his will. Both masters of the two brothers disappeared once the tutelage had been completed. The two returned home, and were instructed by their father to sire children. After all, the dynasty had to survive." Jafar's mouth twisted in distaste.

"One brother married; the younger one. The elder didn't, but one day he came home carrying a little boy. The boy had the same eyes as the elder brother. The child didn't make it past its third year, however. So the future of the family was pinned on the younger's offspring. The younger brother married a woman from a line of prosperous merchants, so she brought an immense dowry with her, which is why my father chose her." Jafar stopped suddenly. He hadn't meant to say that. Not yet. He knew Anjum would most likely deduce that this was his family history, but it was easier to tell as if it was a legend.

Anjum's face didn't change, for which Jafar was almost grateful. She simply sat, quietly attentive to his foul words.

"My mother had been accustomed to a life of luxury. When she discovered her life was not to be quite as fine as the one she had known she became very…mean spirited. Who knows, perhaps she always had been, but hadn't been given a chance to show it. She grew to hate my father for taking her away from her soft life, which couldn't have pleased my father more. All he wanted was her money and her capacity to produce an heir to the family's power. Anything more he considered a distraction. And so, I was born into a family craving power, and steeped in empty hatred. I," here he paused for a moment, "and my sister." At this, Anjum finally reacted.

"You have a sister…what is she like? What is her name?" Jafar's lips contorted into a hideous mockery of a smile.

"My dear twin, Nasira, is devoted to me, although I can't imagine why. She is much more our father's child than I am. My father and uncle began tutoring us at a young age and she took to the Skills quite readily." Jafar noted Anjum's questioning glance and explained: "'The Skills' is my family's private term for the various crafts that have been collected and passed on. At any rate, Nasira always had a flare for the more mystical side of our upbringing than I did. This infuriated my father to no end that only one of his children met his expectations. At least…" Jafar trailed off, eyes narrowed in thought.

"At least?" Anjum questioned.

"Nothing," Jafar lied easily. "A passing thought." The thought was not passing, though; it was earth-shaking. He didn't have his sister's gift with the Skills, and had fled his family home…and yet, here he was, in a position of steadily increasing power and influence. It couldn't be possible that his family had manipulated him into such a position. After all, as open and visible as Jafar was ought to make the position of Royal Vizier the last place he would secrete himself away. _And yet…_

A cold wind blew in through the high open arched windows, setting parchments rustling and causing the oil flame to gutter and spurt. Perhaps it was only Jafar's imagination that made him so suspicious, but no good would come of underestimating his family. He glanced around. The room was full of shadows, and he couldn't tell if there were translucent eyes hidden within them. Jafar repressed a shudder. For the past several years, he had put as much distance between himself and his kin as possible, and here he was, conjuring them for Anjum when he should have thrown her from his office.

"Well?" Anjum prompted quietly; obviously impatient for the rest of the tale. _The explanation that hopefully won't kill us both, _Jafar thought grimly.

"I ran away from my lessons as a child. I hid, but every time I was swiftly discovered and dragged back to my instructors. There were numerous punishments; my uncle was an inventive man. So was my father, but he was also much more practical. When I kept running, he would flog me. He was a sizable man and I… I was not." Jafar's mouth twisted, his eyes staring, unseeing past Anjum. He was caught in the shades of his past now.

"That was why I started playing the _mizmar,_" he recalled. "My family didn't waste time on music, and it set me further apart from them. It was something that was mine, something that they couldn't touch. Nasira, of course could never see the problems. 'Try again,' she would say. 'You will melt into the shadows if you just try, and then Father will let you go your own way.'

"Suffice to say, I grew thoroughly exhausted of the whole charade. My family decided it needed to be hidden so as to hone its powers, so I went the other way. I was sick of the shadows; I wanted to stand in the daylight. I wanted a chance to live life, not just scrape up dark powers. So I did apply myself to my lessons. I learned how to persuade people, and Nasira and my mother taught me the abilities of gemstones. Not just their value in alchemy, but how far people will go for greed.

"Mother always hated Father, so she fought him the only way she could: she became a tight fisted, shrieking harridan. Of course, since Father was _involved _in our creation, she hated her children as well. My sister she hated because Nasira could go beyond what Mother felt a woman should do, and she hated me for being my father's son. But, her loyalties could be bought. She came from wealth, and wealth is what she wanted. I have never seen anyone driven as hysterical as she was by the sight of a glimmering gem.

"By the time I was seventeen, my father and uncle seemed to have decided that I wasn't fully incompetent, although they had relegated me to bring in wealth while my sister took care of the mystical side of things. My uncle set out to find a woman with a fortune to shackle to me. Nasira, I recall, had caused an uproar; quite unlike her. She was determined that she wouldn't marry as she didn't want some 'new man to control her fate', I believe she said. Father was distracted by his perfect student finally rebelling, and I took my chance.

"I quietly stole as much food as I could carry, as well as some gold, basic equipment and a concealment charm my grandfather had crafted. While my uncle was absent, my father distracted by Nasira, and my mother consumed by an emerald I'd planted in her room, I made my escape. I slipped out in the dawn and headed west. The charm worked, but not as well as I'd hoped. Nasira was able to scry me out, even when our father and uncle could not. She was furious that I had abandoned her, but I managed to convince her that there was no place for me with our family. She was hurt, but offered me a warning: that I would be tracked wherever I went, until our father could lay his hands on me again. She did promise not to help the search, even if she didn't promise not to hinder it. Nasira is devoted to me, but she is loyal to the family teachings."

Another gust of chill air hushed through the room, and Jafar slowly emerged from the past. He looked around his office, at the life he had built for himself, and sighed.

"In all those months we talked, we never brought up our pasts. I assume you had your reasons, just as I had mine. You see, one other thing my family tried to instill in my head: emotions betray you, and make you easy to snare. Anyone who is close to a person can be a target, to manipulate and control. That is why I let no one near me, until you slipped in when I wasn't looking." Anjum flushed slightly, although with annoyance or embarrassment, Jafar could not tell in the flickering oil light.

"Have you heard from any member of your family in the intervening years, to make you so cautious?" Anjum asked. "Or is it just a natural tendency of yours to hide?" Her words were empty of venom, but Jafar thought he detected a slight gleam in her eyes. Jafar grimaced.

"My sister keeps managing to find me." He caught Anjum's eye, and hastily added, "It's not that I'm not fond of my sister; I am. But if she can find me, then perhaps so can the others. As I said, her loyalty is to her family…all her family. I doubt that she enjoys keeping my secrets from them. Despite her promise, she may one day decide that it would serve her best to have all her family together again." Jafar spread his hands. "She's something of a sentimentalist like that."

Anjum leaned back in her seat.

"Then tell me, what were you thinking, entering a visible position like that of the Vizier?" Her brow wrinkled with thought. "Moreover, how _did _you manage to gain this position? The Vizier is normally selected from within a small pool of noblemen."

"A visible position is worst hiding place in the world," Jafar agreed, "which is why it is the last place that a person would think to look. Besides," he hesitated, "I spent enough time on the streets to desire something a bit more comfortable." His eyes narrowed with memory. "This part of the world demands a strict adherence to the status quo. There is not room to live as you please; you are either part of the pattern, or else you don't belong. The fact that my family managed to secrete itself away to build its little dynasty is a wonder. But they taught me enough that I could slide through the city unnoticed as I worked my way up."

"Why not just set yourself up as some minor nobleman?" Anjum queried.

"Minor noblemen have to do things like pay taxes and appear at court and get shipped off to be ambassadors. If I had to be in the civil service, why not be at the top? Besides," here, a light grin broke through his serious monologue, "no taxes."

"And this concern about your family," Anjum spoke slowly, each word deliberate, "is why you felt that you had to be the noble hero and debase me?"

Fury rocked Jafar to the core. He was trying to keep Anjum out of harm's way, out of the baleful eyes of his family, and she had the gall to be _insulted? _Yet, before his rage could come shrieking out, something in her face halted him. It was a look he'd seen a few times; her face was at its most serene, but there was a glimmer in those strange blue eyes. She was pushing him, ever so quietly. Jafar had watched her do this before; gently nudge the situation until she found the line of safety. Normally, that was where she stopped. But Jafar had a feeling that Anjum would keep pushing him until the last grace point of safety was lost behind them.

_But why?_

Jafar fixed Anjum with a steady gaze of his own.

"I have just given you more insight into my life than I have ever granted another person. Now I think it is time for you to fill me in on what happened…everything that happened, I think." Jafar heard the breath catch in Anjum's throat. For a split second she appeared as lost and fragile as she had earlier that morning. Then something hardened behind her eyes, a resoluteness that straightened her spine and flared her nostrils in determination.

"Perhaps I do, at that. Perhaps I do."


End file.
